Pranktically Friends
by mcsahl
Summary: Harry finds Severus sleeping in a corridor. Severus, thanks to his paranoia, is convinced Harry has pulled a prank on him and decides to retaliate. A war, of sorts, ensues. Completely AU fifth year.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters featured in this story. Since life is not fair, I do not own any of the castles either. They all belong to a very rich lady, by name of Joanne Rowling. Unfortunately, I do not earn any money from this story.**  
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**Chapter one – Sleeping Beauty**_  
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I strode down the corridor, intent on finding any miscreants out after curfew. I rounded a corner, ascended a staircase two steps at a time, and continued in the same brisk pace. After leaving my chambers; which smelled of sweat, uneasy sleep and fear; I always found that some exercise was the best distraction from the lingering fear.

My eyes were stinging, I knew that they –just like the rest of my exhausted body – craved sleep, but I refused to indulge it. Since Dreamless Sleep was both addictive and dangerous when used regularly for extended periods of time, I could no longer rely on the potion for sleep. The fear of going to bed, of falling asleep, of both re-living my worst memories and living those my imagination concocted, was enough to make me discard the notion. I had already tried sleeping once tonight. Less than two hours after I had completed my nightly ablutions, gone to bed, and pulled the comforter up to my chin, I had awoken. Screaming, sobbing, gasping for breath.

My mind was getting more sluggish by the minute, the otherwise simple process of thought now almost impossible. I cursed – I needed rest. I refused to sleep, but I would not be averse to sitting down for a moment. Simply to rest my tired limbs.

I debated going back to my chambers and sitting in my favourite armchair in front of the hearth. Maybe I would conjure some merrily dancing flames to keep the darkness at bay and me some company. I groaned at the thought of all those stairs and went to lean against the wall. Forcing my tired arms to obey, I rubbed my eyes. My muscles, only minutes ago working as well as ever, were now protesting heavily. I had walked into a proverbial wall.

Resignedly, I slid down, my back pressed against the smooth wall, until I was sitting on the floor.  
"I'll just close my eyes for a minute," I mumbled to myself.

* * *

Harry swung his legs over the bedside. In the dusky dormitory, which was only illuminated by the moon outside the large window, he heard only the sounds of his sleeping friends. He quietly stood up and padded over to his trunk. The Silencing Charm he had put around his bed had kept the others from hearing his screams, but it would not keep them from waking up if he accidentally bumped into something now.

He undid the fastenings on his trunk – fortunately without much noise – and opened it.. Inside lay an assorted pile of things – quills, ink, clothes, books, some candy wrappers, and other mundane things. But also his invisibility cloak and the Marauders Map. He grabbed both, quickly hid himself beneath the fabric of the cloak, and sneaked out of the dormitory.

In the abandoned common room, he halted and extricated his wand from the pocket of his pajama bottoms. He gently tapped the tip of the wand against the Map and mumbled:

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The previously empty parchment was now filled with lines and dots. In the Gryffindor Tower, everyone but the dot labeled _Harry Potter _were in their beds. The corridor outside the tower was empty, and the next was... currently occupied by Severus Snape. _I'd better wait a little while, until he goes away, _he thought. _That is one person I do not want to encounter when I'm out after curfew_.

He waited five minutes, all the while watching Snape's dot intently. But it didn't move! It just remained there, completely still, up against the wall. He frowned, then narrowed his eyes. Of course he was standing there, hoping that some Gryffindor would walk by. Then he could pounce and take points from said Gryffindor, maybe even dole out a detention. He grimaced, he knew that Snape often patrolled the corridors at night, hunting for students breaking the rules, but laying in ambush sounded a bit extreme – even for him.

After ten minutes, the dot had still not moved. Harry sighed, if he wanted to get to the library at all tonight; which he did since it supplied excellent distraction from the memories and guilt his nightmares evoked; he would have to sneak past the Potions Master. With a grimace and a muttered curse, he left the common room through the portrait of the Fat Lady.

He walked as quietly as he possibly could, looking at the map every few seconds. The Severus Snape dot had still not moved.

"I know the man is stubborn, but this is taking it a bit too far," he muttered. Stupid Snape with his stupid animosity towards Gryffindors. When he came to the end of the first corridor, he gingerly looked around the corner. The Professor was there, just like the map said, but something was odd. He was sitting, propped up against the wall, but with his chin resting on his chest. Harry carefully crept closer, and then closer still. Suddenly, he stopped – the professor was sleeping. Light, almost inaudible snores, came from his direction. Harry, intrigued despite his better sense, knelt beside the sleeping form. He bent forward, until he could see the man's face. He had to suppress a gasp, the man looked completely different. Without his infamous sneer, he looked almost kind. There was something strangely vulnerable, almost childish, over his features.

Harry bit his lip in contemplation. _I can't leave the man here, unguarded and alone. I should just wake him up_. But then he looked at his face again, and couldn't bring himself to do it. From the dark shadows beneath his eyes, Harry knew that the man did not sleep well or often. He obviously needed the rest if he fell asleep in the corridor. Harry looked around, musing._ He can't spend the night here, nor can I_. He studied the Map, saw that a classroom lay down the next corridor, and decided to bring the professor there.

He pulled out his wand again, and said:

"Mobilocorpus."

Carefully levitating the sleeping form of Severus Snape in front of him, he walked towards his decided destination.

The door to the classroom was thankfully unlocked, since he doubted he would have been able to levitate Snape and unlock the door simultaneously. Using his full concentration, he managed to transport the man through the doorway without damaging him. Quite proud of himself, Harry smiled.

After carefully putting the older man down on the floor, Harry transformed a desk into a bed. Since transformation was not his best subject, he was rather proud with the result. It looked like a bed, and was even adequately soft. He smiled, before levitating the Potions Master onto the bed. He pulled off one of his socks, which were luckily clean, and transformed it into a comforter. After transforming his other sock into a pillow, he approached the sleeping man with both items. He carefully lifted the man's head, holding his breath the whole time, and put the pillow beneath it. Then he spread the comforter over the professor.

_I'm tucking Snape in_, he thought, and could not suppress a small giggle. He sat down on a chair and combed a hand through his hair. He was rather surprised that he had managed to get the professor into bed without waking him up. _He must have been very tired._

After a while the man started whimpering, his hands clenched and unclenched, small tremors went through his body. Harry bit the inside of his cheek, it was obvious that the man's dreams had taken an uncomfortable turn.

When the whimpers grew louder, Harry cast a silencing charm on the door of the classroom. When they turned to outright screams, Harry could not stand it anymore. He shot up from his seat, and ran over to the bed. The man was flailing, all the while begging someone.

"No, please. No, please, don't!"

For the first time he could remember, Harry felt sympathy for the nasty Potions Master. Thankfully he had stopped screaming, but the gasped begging and his expression, filled with pain, were almost worse. Harry desperately reached out and shook the man, trying to wrench him from his nightmare.

"Wake up, professor!" His voice sounded frightened. "Come on, please wake up."

Snape was shaking now, strangled sobs escaping his throat. Suddenly he screamed, his body convulsing in pain. Harry shook him again, wishing with all his heart that he would just wake up.

He put his hands on the man's cheeks, cupping them roughly. "Severus," he said. "Severus, it's just a dream."

The man stopped screaming, stopped twitching, stopped begging. Now he merely lay there, sobbing quietly. Harry stroked his surprisingly soft chin with his knuckles, then put an errant strand of hair behind his ear. Gradually, the man relaxed. Harry kept stroking his hair, somewhere knowing that it felt odd but also that it was the right thing to do, until Snape was once again slumbering peacefully. Harry removed his hand from the older man's hair – which, he was surprised to find, was not greasy at all, only very soft – and made to move away. The man moaned pitifully at the loss of contact, and Harry quickly grabbed his hand, afraid that the professor would succumb to nightmares again. Summoning his chair, he sat down next to the bed, still holding the professor's hand in his own.

* * *

I awoke – awoke, had I been asleep? - by a gentle shaking of my shoulder. I was lying on something soft; a bed. Had I gone back to my chambers? No, in my chambers I would be alone. Alone – I was not alone.

I was instantly fully awake and sitting up. My hand went into my pocket and pulled out my wand, aiming it at the only other person in the room.

"Potter," I spat, pleased to see him flinch. I looked around myself, concluded that I was most likely in one of the abandoned classrooms in Hogwarts, and relaxed slightly. But only slightly. "Why am I here, what have you done with me?" I demanded furiously. The boy visibly – and audibly – swallowed, before making a reply.

"You were in the corridor, sleeping." He looked pleadingly at me, as if willing me to believe him. Of course I did not. Why would I be sleeping in the corridor? That was a ludicrous notion. Obviously the brat had done something and was now trying to cover his tracks. "I thought you'd be better off sleeping somewhere more," he hesitated, "safe."

I snorted. "So I am to believe that you _saved_ me. From _sleeping_." I sneered, glad to discover that whatever the miscreant had done, it had not diluted the power of my sneers. I continued, in a mocking voice. "Out of the goodness of your heart, I assume."

The brat actually looked relieved. How dared he? "Yes," he said, "I may not particularly like you," that was the understatement of the year,"but I'm Gryffindor. Ridiculously so, even." I took it back, _that_was the understatement of the year. "So, it really doesn't matter that I don't like you or that you hate me, you are still on the list of people I save when I deem it necessary." There's a list? An actual list, or a metaphorical one? "Honestly, you shouldn't be so surprised, I saved Pettigrew, and he killed my parents."

"And why, if I may inquire, did you 'deem it necessary' to save me? I was within the walls of Hogwarts, which are well protected, and am also quite capable of taking care of myself."

"Well, I know you were hardly in mortal peril, and am also quite aware of that you are capable of defending yourself. Normally." Normally? "But you were sleeping quite heavily," I snorted again, I never slept heavily, "heavily enough for me to levitate you here and put you to bed." He levitated me here? And 'put me to bed'? As in _tucking me in_? My traitorous face must have shown my distress, because he gave me a reassuring half smile. Absolutely disgusting. "Look, I know how cruel children can be, and I figured that the last thing you needed was for some vindictive student to pull a prank on you and make you the laughing stock of the entire school." He held up a hand, just as I was about to protest. How _rude_. "It's okay, I know that you don't believe me. And that's fine – I was hardly expecting your eternal gratitude." Wise. "I know that you'll keep treating me like something nasty and ridiculing me every chance you get. And that's fine," he smiled mischievously and winked, "we wouldn't want everyone to die of a shock-induced heart attack, now would we?" Was that a joke? Did he just joke? More importantly, was it on my expense?

"Why did you not just wake me?"

He looked at his feet, which I noted; were bare. Unsophisticated brat. He raised his head again, and looked into my eyes. "You looked peaceful." That shut me up.

He yawned and stretched, then gathered his hated invisibility cloak and a piece of parchment. Lifting his wand and pointing it at the door, he said:

"Finite Incantantem." Turning around, he gave me an apologetic look. "Silencing Charm," he said by way of explanation, then shrugged. I blanched, had I been making noises in my sleep? "Don't worry, I have one around my bed. I put it there so I don't wake the others up in the middle of the night." He gave me a weak smile. Potter had nightmares? Well, it was hardly my problem if he did. And besides, it was just as likely that he dreamed loudly for other, more pleasant, reasons. "I'm going now, the bed was a desk if you need to transform it back."

"And the comforter, the pillow?"

"Just," he hesitated slightly, looking vaguely embarrassed, "just banish those." Then he turned on his heel, and left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: J. K. Rowling owns everything mentioned in this story. When I take over the world, I'll see about changing ownership to me.  
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Chapter two – Prepare Yourself for War

I was, to say the least, _not pleased_. The sheer impertinence of that blasted brat! He and his fellow Gryffindorks were probably laughing their pert little buttocks off in their garishly decorated common room right about now. If only I knew what the boy had done!

I knew that he had done something untoward, of course, for this greatly reminded me of a particularly vicious prank the Marauders had subjected me to during our sixth year. Thankfully, I could detect no feathers anywhere on my body. I toyed with the notion of telling the Headmaster what the brat had done this time, but quickly discarded it. The Headmaster never took action against his darling Gryffindors, anyway.

A first year Hufflepuff scurried around the corner when I approached; my murderous expression probably made his fight or flight instinct kick in. Of course, he fled. They all did.

_Everyone except Potter. _

I growled, the boy-who-sodding-lived had overstepped the boundary. This was, of course, not an uncommon incident – the brat had broken innumerable rules during his residency at the school – this was, however, the first time he had the audacity to make a personal attack against me.

_I shall have to strike back, regain the ground I lost this night._

A smile – smirk, really – graced my face. Retaliation would indeed be sweet.

* * *

Harry was walking down to breakfast with his friends. He absentmindedly rubbed his eyes, as he perfunctorily listened to the bickering his friends were engaged in. Sometimes – strike that, all the time – he wondered why they wouldn't just shag each other and eliminate all the uncomfortable tension between them.

His back ached rather fiercely; undoubtedly the result of sitting hunched over in an uncomfortable chair the entire night. Apparently, comforting Professor Snape was hard labour. He winced at the mental images that assaulted him at that thought. _Bad phrasing, man. Just... no. _

"What do you think, Harry?"

Extremely grateful for the distraction Hermione's question supplied, he focused his full attention on her. "About what?"

"About potions, Harry. Haven't you been listening? We're discussing the advantages versus disadvantages of Snape's methods."

Harry made an exasperated noise. "Have I ever told you what an absolutely horrid friend you are, Hermione?" He sighed, "let's just talk about something else. Preferably something completely unrelated to Snape."

"I'll second that, mate."

Ron, reliable Ron. _Except when he's jealous,_his mind quickly supplied.

"Well, go fuck yourself on a broom handle," he told his mind.

"Mate?" Ron's hesitant voice brought him out of the musings he had recently succumbed to. He winced.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" His friends nodded. Harry nodded. "Don't ask," he said, shaking his head for emphasis.

They walked the remainder of the way to the great hall in a silence that alternated between companionable and strained. Hermione would occasionally open her mouth; as if to say something, and upon a glare from Ron; close it again.

* * *

I was sitting at the high table, surrounded by my – I mentally shuddered – colleagues. My eyes were avidly watching the big double doors that occasionally swung open and admitted students into the hall – _someone ought to seal them shut, such behaviour is simply unacceptable_.

Finally, the golden trio entered. The Granger-girl looked to be on verge of speaking; probably to supply her friends with one of her infernal comments. The Weasley-boy cast a stern glance in her direction, and she promptly schooled her features. The Potter-brat looked rather bothered; perhaps someone had declined an invitation to his fan-club.

I let my eyes sweep the hall, before zooming in on the Gryffindors again. They were lowering their bottoms onto the wooden bench, chatting amiably with the surrounding people. I scowled, the Potter-brat was solely insufferable; undoubtedly the seemingly enraptured people just wanted a piece of his fame. _Friends_– I snorted. They were as much his friends, as Lucius-bloody-Malfoy was mine. A convenient ally, nothing more.

I surreptitiously reached under the table and palmed my wand. Aiming the tip against Potter, I whispered an incantation.

"_The lightning bolt shaped scar on my forehead, indicates that I am a dunderhead."_

The words hovered above his head, legible from all directions and quite cumbersome to remove. Perhaps it was neither original, nor truly humiliating; but it was the first step of many towards breaking Harry Potter.

Snickers started at the Hufflepuff table, where the occupants started poking each other and whispering to their neighbours. Several fingers pointed in Potter's direction, which resulted in more snickers. The Gryffindors, too, were noticing. Their expressions changed from – well, whichever expressions ignoramuses normally carried – to angry. Potter, seemingly hypnotized by his breakfast, had not yet noticed that anything was amiss. The Ravenclaws were not slow in joining the laughter.

Now, the Slytherins joined in. They positively hooted with glee, Draco Malfoy – who was only slightly less obnoxious and spoiled than Potter – partaking with gusto. "Hey, Potter!" he yelled. The Potter-brat turned his head so quickly, the laws of physics should have given him a whiplash. "At least we can't sue you for false advertising!"

Potter, his face a study of confusion, turned towards his friends. The Granger-girl winced as she informed him of the words hovering above his head. Potter had the decency to look abashed for a few, precious, moments – before throwing his head back and laughing. The hall went eerily still, the only one moving – indeed; the only one making any sound – was Potter. The brat was now clutching his stomach, rocking back and forth, tears of mirth rolling down his face.

And so, the spell was broken. Every occupant of the Gryffindor table started laughing as well. I growled. The boy had won, yet again.I put my teacup down; perhaps with slightly more force than was strictly necessary; stood up, and swept out of the hall. My robes, I could tell, were billowing quite ominously behind me.  
_Prepare yourself for war, Potter._

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"I am afraid, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "that I can't remove it."

Harry blinked. "Pardon me, Professor, I believe I misheard you. I thought you said that you can't remove it?"

His Head of House looked wryly amused. "Indeed I did, Mister Potter. Whoever did this, used a rather advanced spell; whose primary function is that of a shop sign. The caster, of course, can remove it quite easily." She looked at him apologetically, "I am afraid you will need official permission from the ministry to remove it, since there are a number of regulations to be observed concerning this particular spell."

Harry blanched. "How do I get this permission?"

"I believe there is a form you will have to fill in, it will then take a few days for the ministry to process the form. After that you should receive permission, and a ministry employee will attend to its removal."

Days? _Days!?_This was decidedly not amusing. "How many days?"

"I do not know, Mister Potter."

Harry giggled nervously. "Do you have a general estimation? Say more or less than two?"

"More, would be my guess."

"Balls!"

"Mister Potter, I understand that you are upset, but there is no excuse to resort to such crude language.""I have an interview with_ Witch Weekly_scheduled for Thursday," Harry confessed with a miserable expression.

"Rescheduling it should not be an issue." McGonagall smiled encouragingly.

"I'm afraid rescheduling it will not be possible," Harry said, his tone defeated.

"Nonsense, why would it be a problem?"  
_  
Because some ass-hat at the editorial office of With Weekly has pictures of me in the shower, don't ask me how he got them. If I try to reschedule this, said ass-hat will smell something fishy and demand that the interview be conducted at the originally planned time. If I refuse, he will release previously mentioned pictures. I think I'll just go ahead with the interview, thank you very much. _

"No particular reason," Harry sighed. "Thank you for your time, professor."

* * *

Pomona reached across the table, and served herself another slice of cake. Her third – _in the last ten minutes._ I frowned and idly wondered when the woman would learn some discipline. Five years had passed since she had defended her exaggerated consumption of calories with a simpering: "if a man can't handle a few curves, he truly is not much of a man". Five years later she still used the same excuse, though; by now; _curvy_ was decidedly not the adjective I would use when describing her body. Perhaps _fat_. Yes, fat. I watched with a sneer as she brought her spoon, burdened with a rather large piece of chocolate cake, to her mouth. She moaned as she chewed. You'd think that by the millionth bite, the novelty would have worn off.

"_Mmmmm._"

Apparently not.

"Poor Harry," McGonagall said, "was quite upset when he found out that it would simply be impossible to remove the spell without permission and assistance from the ministry." _Poor Harry_, indeed. I snorted. "Apparently he is scheduled to have an interview with _Witch Weekly_on Thursday." The brat would surely reschedule, fabricating some sob-story about how hard it was to be the Saviour of the Bloody World. "He seemed certain that it would be all but impossible to reschedule, and was rather miserable." So, perhaps the brat would have gotten his comeuppance after all.

Suddenly, I felt rather bad for implementing that second prank. I shrugged it off as Pomona supplied herself with another slice of cake.

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**AN:** You are very welcome to A) post a review about how much you love this story, or B) post a review where you insult my mother. Please accept my profuse thanks in advance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: How about no?

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Chapter three – the Interview

"Welcome, Mister Potter, please have a seat," the young witch, her blonde hair gathered in a bun at the crown of her head, said.

"Thank you, I would love to," Harry said as he took his seat. The young witch kept casting nervous glances at the sign above his head. Harry winced, well at least she hadn't noticed the rhyming yet.

"Can I get you anything? Some tea, a glass of water, pumpkin juice?"

Harry took a deep breath, he actually was rather thirsty. "Some pumpkin juice would be nice,  
I'll have a glass of medium size." She looked a bit oddly at him, straightened her skirt, gave a curt nod, and exited the room. Harry gulped, there was no way he was getting through this interview without losing what little dignity he still possessed after two days of having a sign, proclaiming him to be an idiot, as a constant companion. He deliberately avoided thinking about the rhyming. Whoever had performed that nasty little charm on him, would pay dearly.

The witch came back, a glass of pumpkin juice balancing rather precariously on a small silver tray hovering behind her. She smiled half-heartedly at him as she placed the tray on the small table next to his seat. "Miss King will see you in a few moments," she told him, before excusing herself with a small bow and leaving. Harry lifted the glass and slowly took a sip of the juice.

"Harry, my dear, how are you?"

"I am very well, Miss King, let me ask you the same thing." Harry winced. He must have performed some truly horrible deeds in a former life, to deserve this kind of agony. She didn't seem to notice anything amiss so far though, smiling and thanking him for asking.

Miss King opened her ugly purse and extricated her notebook, soon to be joined by a quick-quotes-quill. Harry's expression fell even further. She noticed this. "I borrowed this from my colleague Rita Skeeter, quite a useful tool," she frowned. "I'm actually surprised she declined to do this interview…"

With a shrug she returned her focus on the young man before her.

"The lightning bolt shaped scar on my forehead, indicates that I am a dunderhead." She pursed her lips. "Do you have an explanation?"

"Someone thought this would be funny - " Shit, shit, shit. _Quickly Harry, something that rhymes with funny! _"bunny."

Harry felt the majority of the blood in his body migrate to his face, as the reporter eyed him dubiously. The interview continued in the same vein, though with more questions about his personal life than Harry felt comfortable with.

"Thank you, Harry. Now, what is your favourite fruit?" she suddenly asked.

"I'll never say no to a grape," Harry answered confidently. This was one question they could not misinterpret; as such, it was completely benign. Now he just had to come up with a rhyme. "Neither would I decline..."_ Shit, I can't say __**rape**__ during an interview!_He listened, with morbid fascination, as he finished the sentence with: "Snape."

Harry almost wept, as Skeeter's quick-quotes-quill; probably for the first time ever; wrote down _exactly_what he had said.

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The Potter-brat looked apprehensive, which he truly ought to look more often. It suited me much better than his usual cocky demeanour. He kept shooting nervous glances towards the – ah! The post owls currently pouring into the hall. Potter was gazing at the descending owls rather forlornly, I smirked. Very pleased that I had ordered a copy of this week's _Witch Weekly_, I put the correct amount of coins in the small pouch tied to the owl's leg. I took a small sip of my tea, before languidly sitting back and unfolding my paper.

"_Harry Potter – Exclusive Interview on Page Seven_," the front page declared. Beneath the title, there was a large picture of Potter; looking like a vagabond. His hair was unkempt, his eyes unnaturally large beneath the ugly glasses, the collar of his shirt askew. Maybe _vagabond_ was taking it a bit too far, but he looked like... like... _Harry-sodding-Potter_. I let out a disgusted snort.

Snickers erupted throughout the hall, even a few girls at the Gryffindor table were giggling. The Granger-girl placed a comforting hand on the Potter-brat's shoulder while the Weasley-boy looked murderous. Potter looked simply mortified. I returned my attention to the newspaper, the Potter in the picture looked at me pleadingly. _Most likely pleading me not to read the article_, I smirked and flipped to page seven.

**Harry Potter; Attention Seeking Liar or Eccentric Youngster?**

**Harry Potter, the sole heir to the Potter fortune and also known as "The Boy Who Lived" has recently suffered some bad press, after his proclamation that You-Know-Who under mysterious circumstances has returned. But is he the naïve pawn of Dumbledore the Daily Prophet claims him to be, or is this preposterous statement just the misunderstood joke by an eccentric and lonely teenager? This reporter intends to find out.**

**A relaxed and cheerful Mr. Potter meets This Reporter, his startlingly green eyes lit up by an easy smile. A curious message is attached over his fashionably messy black hair, stating that his famous scar is nothing more than a sign that he is a dunderhead (see photo at top of the page). He explains that "Someone thought this would be funny…bunny". I shrug this rather odd statement off, and dive straight into the Q and A.**

"**_Last term you not only competed in the Triwizard Tournament, you became the champion; despite your being much younger than the other contestants; what do you think your parents would say to that?"_**

"**I don't really know since I was young when they died, but I hope what I did would fill them with pride."**

"**_There was a __rumour last year concerning your relationship with one Hermione Granger, what do have to say about that?" _**

"**Hermione is just a really good friend, to a more intimate level we will never ascend."**

The article continued in the same vein, until a certain question caught my eye.

_** "Thank you, Harry. Now, what is your favourite fruit?"**_

**"I'll never say no to a grape, neither would I decline Snape."**

Upon reading this, I choked on my tea. I coughed and spluttered, desperately trying to regain my bearings. What was I supposed to do about this? Taking a deep breath, I looked up and met the anxious eyes of Potter. His cheeks were tinged with red and his hands were shaking. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Pushing my chair out, I rose.

I walked down the center aisle, and halted when I came abreast with Potter. "I had no idea you were so fond of me, Potter," I mocked him.

He gulped before replying. "Well, it was either _that_or rape, sir."

_Indeed?_

"Well, I suppose it is rather endearing that you would prefer me willing," I said, my tone completely serious.

Upon seeing Longbottom's expression, which wavered between disbelieving and terrified, I could not help myself. I guffawed.

* * *

Harry was wandering the hallways, glad that the bulk of the students were gathered in their common rooms. Giggles, stares, and snide comments had followed him the entire day. The rumour mill had done an exceedingly good job, insuring that everyone had known about the article by lunch. Harry groaned – even Snape had read it. And made a joke about it.

Harry blushed at the memory, he was convinced that he would never live this down.

Malfoy had been positively ecstatic, mocking Harry at every convenient moment. During lunch he had placed a cluster of grapes in front of Harry. "Since Professor Snape has at least a modicum of self respect," he had said, "I'm afraid the chances of his engaging in sexual activities with you are next to non-existent." A smirk. "Please accept these grapes as a token of my condolences." He then sauntered back to the Slytherin table, nodding towards the head table as he went.

Harry's hate for the blonde git had increased exponentially with every remark, and there had been many. "Don't despair, Potter," he had called across the great hall during dinner, for example. "I'm sure an eccentric youngster such as yourself will find someone eventually!"

At least the rhyming charm had worn off the evening before, though the sign still floated merrily above his head. Irritated, he swatted at it. A faint stinging sensation erupted in his hand, as it stroke the words. He heaved a sigh, the last couple of days had been dreadful. Even some of his housemates had laughed at him, openly or behind his back, and made rude comments about his mental state or sexual preferences.

He was outside the staff room, whose door was ajar, when he heard voices. He was going to ignore them and keep walking, when he heard his name mentioned. He quickly made a conscious decision to eavesdrop.

"Now, Severus, don't play coy with me. I know that it was not a coincidence that the very charm you asked me about three nights ago, was applied to Mister Potter the following morning."

Harry's jaw dropped. Were they talking about the rhyming charm? _Snape_had put that on him?

"Filius, you wound me. You suspect I would do such a thing to a student?" Snape's voice was brimful with gloating. Harry felt anger, mixed with – yes, something like betrayal – awaken within him. _I helped him, I chased away his nightmares, I held his hand while he slept. This is how he repays me? By humiliating me in front of the entire Wizarding World?_

"I suppose you are the originator of the sign as well?"

Snape chuckled, Harry's hands formed fists. "Now, why would you suppose such a thing, Filius?"

Flitwick's voice was recriminating: "Why would I, indeed?"

"Well, I can think of no apparent reason. Goodnight, Filius."

The door swung fully open, and emitted Professor Severus Snape; as dark and imposing as always. He walked in the direction of the dungeons, and Harry disengaged himself from the shadows as soon as the man disappeared around the corner.

"Ah, Mister Potter!" Harry jumped at the sound of Flitwick's voice. "I reckon you heard a good portion of that conversation?"

Harry stammered forth a negative reply, but Flitwick merely smiled. "Excellent, excellent. Well, of course I would _never_recommend retaliation against a professor." He looked at Harry sternly, "but there is a very handy charm, rendering an individual incapable of walking any way but backwards for an entire day. I would not advise you to use this against Professor Snape, of course, but; just so you know; it can be found on page two hundred and thirty-three in 'The Charming Prankster'. I believe it is currently residing in the library."

Harry felt like a fish, opening and closing his mouth in shock. Flitwick wanted him to prank Professor Snape?

"You had better get back to your common room, Mister Potter," the small man said in a jovial tone, "curfew is in fifteen minutes. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Professor," Harry managed to say, but by then; Flitwick was already out of hearing range.

* * *

AN: I have a headache - that, by itself, is totally worth an awesome review.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I would love to own Severus Snape, but; alas; I do not.

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Chapter four – the Empire Strikes Backwards

_Harry was running through a forest. He tore through the underbrush, not caring about the recalcitrant branches that whipped him as he passed. He tripped on a rock and fell to his knees, dirt and twigs dug into his palms. He stumbled to his feet and resumed running. He had to get away._

_Suddenly, he was standing on the shore of a lake; Sirius unconscious body lying beside him. The dementors were descending, accompanied by a powerful feeling of dread. Harry lifted his wand: "Expecto Patronum!" he yelled, but the stag refused to appear._

_"Avada Kadavra." A green light erupted, and Cedric fell. His empty eyes were staring at Harry, accusing him._

_Another green light, his mother falling to the floor, another pair of lifeless eyes._

Harry awoke with Voldemort's laughter still ringing in his ears. With sweat running down his back, he sat there; panting. Eventually, his heart calmed; gradually resuming its normal rhythm.

Harry pushed his bed curtains apart, noticing with relief that dawn was impending. He swung his legs over the bedside, shivering slightly as his bare feet made contact with the cold stone floor. He stood and wrapped the comforter around himself like a cloak, before making his way across the room. The most prominent sound in the dormitory was Neville's soft snores, Harry smiled. It was a familiar sound, one that instilled a feeling of safety. He sat down on the windowsill, looking out over the grounds. Remembering the book he had borrowed from the library the day before, he grinned. Facing the taunts and snickers of his fellow students did not seem quite so daunting, all of a sudden.

* * *

I took my seat at the high table, quite pleased with myself. The Potter-brat had been absolutely humiliated, the entire school laughing at him and making gibes. That Filius had accurately deduced that I was the perpetrator, was of little consequence. It was not as though my diminutive colleague posed any real threat. At the most, he would tell the headmaster, and the headmaster would cease to offer me lemondrops. Suddenly, I found myself hoping that Filius would inform the headmaster of my misdeeds.

I ate my breakfast in silence, not bothering to answer Minerva's irksome queries about my health and – I suppressed a shudder – happiness. When I was finished, I rose. I decided to exit the great hall through the large double doors, since it was closer to my destination, rather than the smaller set of doors behind the high table.

"I truly am heartbroken to quit your delightful company, Kitten." I ignored her outraged expression at the pet – ha! – name. "Alas, duty calls." I smirked at her, stepped off the dais, and strode down the hall.

Suddenly, I felt myself do an odd pivot. I realized that everyone in the hall was looking at me rather oddly. "Okay, Severus," I whispered to myself, "compose yourself." I gingerly turned a hundred and eighty degrees, until I was once again facing the doors at the end of the hall. Taking a deep breath, and doing my best to ignore my undesired audience, I took a tentative step towards them.

And felt, _to my utmost horror,_my body pivot once again.

"Just walk, Severus, you are completely in charge of the situation," I told myself, as the first muffled giggles reached my ears. "Just walk." I lifted a hesitant foot, and placed it on the floor behind me. I then lifted the other foot, pleased to notice that walking like this was no harder than walking normally. I successfully traveled most of the way through the hall in this manner, ignoring the laughter and holding my head high.

Panic did not seize me, until I realized that my feet had tangled themselves in the hem of my robes. I took a few small, stumbling steps in a desperate attempt to regain my balance. I was certain that my face displayed an expression of pure horror, as I began to fall in earnest.

Luckily, a first year Hufflepuff appeared by my side. I gripped his shoulder, rather painfully judging by his wince, and managed to right myself. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff for being in the way!" I snarled, before hoisting my robes up to my knees, and hurrying out of the hall.

* * *

"Headmaster, you must grant me leave of absence until this charm wears off," I implored my employer. "I can not possibly teach in this condition."

"Now, now, Severus," the headmaster said in an appeasing tone. His eyes were twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "I believe it is not your ability to teach that is currently suffering, rather your pride."

I ground my teeth. "Does it truly matter, Headmaster?"

"We all need a lesson in humility occasionally, I am sure you agree." Agree? _Agree?_Of course I did not agree, what was the old coot thinking!?

"Am I to understand that you will not grant me leave of absence, Headmaster?" I managed to squeeze out through my clenched jaw. This was preposterous!

"I am positive that all will go well, my boy." He picked up a small bowl from his desk, and offered it to me. "Lemon drop?"

I growled.

* * *

Harry was bent over his cauldron, glancing up every now and then to look at Snape. He had spent the entire class sitting behind his desk, glaring at the students and looking absolutely livid. Harry hid a smile, Snape had been absent during lunch; no doubt very reluctant to repeat the performance from breakfast. Harry chopped some roots, before stirring his cauldron.

When he looked up again, Snape's back was coming towards him. He suppressed a laugh – the man looked absolutely ridiculous! He was walking in his usual brisk, no nonsense manner, which; post-charm; looked exceedingly odd and – well, backwards. Harry grinned. Snape stopped approximately two feet from Harry's desk, and carefully maneuvered himself around until he was facing Harry. He leaned forward slightly, and sniffed. "Abysmal performance, as always, Mister Potter," he stated, before backing away.

He stopped by Neville's workstation, cast a disgusted glance at his potion, snorted disdainfully, and walked away from him.

"Hey, Neville," Harry stage whispered, "you must be doing very badly; it appears the Professor is reluctant to turn his back on you."

Neville blanched, obviously afraid that Snape would take his ire out on him. To his right, Hermione sounded like she was choking. Dean and Seamus were shaking with suppressed laughter, while Ron was looking rather confused. Snape looked murderous. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Potter," he spat, then he went back to his desk and sat down.

On Snape's second walk around the classroom, Harry poked Ron and gave him a meaningful look. When Snape had walked past them, and was moving away from them, Harry poked his friend again.  
"Harry," Ron said conversationally, "do you know why Professor Snape is walking backwards?"

"It's part of his charm," Harry replied.

Harry met the furious eyes of the Potions Master, and saw the exact moment realization dawned on him. "Potter!" he cried. "Stay behind after class." Harry nodded levelly, and resumed brewing his potion. He was very displeased to notice that his hands were shaking slightly.

* * *

This was unacceptable! The brat had humiliated me in front of the entire school, and would decidedly not get away with it!

I impatiently awaited the period's conclusion, almost positive that time itself was working against me. Indeed, the remaining fifteen minutes felt more like fifteen hours. Finally, I was able to dismiss the brats, scowling at them as they gathered their equipment and slung their bags over their shoulders. They shuffled out of the room in a long line. _Sheep_.

Eventually, only Potter remained. I lifted finger, and beckoned him to me; simply refusing to leave my seat and approach him, lest I look like an idiot. "You," I accosted him in a dangerous tone, "will tell me _exactly_how to remove this charm."

The brat raised his chin, and had the gall to look stubborn. "I have been walking around with a sign declaring me to be an idiot, for the past five days," his voice was not accusing, merely factual. "I was humiliated in front of all my fellow students, the faculty, and most likely every witch and wizard on the British Isles, thanks to a rhyming charm." So maybe I had taken my vengeance a _bit_ too far. His eyes were calculating. "Do you decline that you are guilty of my allegations?" So he _had_been accusing me, after all. How disrespectful. "I'll take the liberty," nothing new there, "to interpret your silence as a confession." Again, disrespectful. "I'll also implore you to sate my curiosity. Why did you do this?" He called that begging? It certainly sounded more like a demand to me.

"Did you study a dictionary before coming here, Potter? Some of those words were not even monosyllabic," I sneered at him, "you must be quite proud of yourself."

He sighed exasperatedly, obviously he could sense that I was not going to cooperate. "Just remove the damned sign, and I'll remove the charm."

"Remove the damned charm, and I'll remove the sign," I countered.

He raised an eyebrow, which made him look even more ridiculous than usual. "It is a truth universally acknowledged," was he truly going to quote _Pride and Prejudice _at me? "that Slytherins do not always keep promises," he finished with a placating smile. "Gryffindors, on the other hand..." I scoffed, yes; far be it from a Gryffindor to ever break a promise. Too noble by half, the morons.

"Fine," I said disgustedly, "promise that you will remove the sodding charm, after I've removed the sodding sign." I pursed my lips, this was all very unpleasant.

"I promise," he simply said, shrugging.

I waved my wand, spoke an incantation, and watched the floating letters evaporate. I would mourn the loss. Potter executed a laconic swish and flick, I narrowed my eyes at him, and he nodded encouragingly. Slowly, I stood up and took a few trying steps. _Forwards!_ I nearly wept with joy.  
"There is still," I began, "the small matter that you made me walk backwards for the better," try _worse_, "part of a day." He gulped.

"There isn't really any possibility that you'll just call us even, is there, Sir?" I smiled coldly at him. "Right," he laughed nervously, "have a pleasant day," he added, before retrieving his bag, and departing. I decided to skip dinner in favour of a long shower.

* * *

AN: To those of you who submit constructive criticism, I am deeply grateful. Alas, since I have the entire story planned already, the chances that I will take your advice into account are infinitesimal. I apologise for being an arse. It feels a bit odd to beg you for reviews after telling you that I won't heed your advise, but I am certainly not above doing it. Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I am not a particularly good author. I do not own or make money from this story. Actually, I don't make money from anything. I do have a few possessions, though.

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Chapter five – Bananas

I stood over my cauldron, smirking. This would perhaps not be humiliating, but I would wear my hair in a ponytail for fifteen days, if he did not suffer anyway.

I admitted to myself, that the two previous pranks had perhaps gone a bit too far. To my defense, I had not known that he had an interview scheduled. _And_, he had laughed at my first prank. _Really_, I thought, _the brat brought this upon himself_.

Some people would probably argue that the boy and I were even, now. I shook my head; undoubtedly, his prank had been much worse than mine. I had been stumbling over my own robes, for Merlin's sake! Like a simpleton or an inebriated chimpanzee. Or Vincent Crabbe. I shuddered at the comparison.

No, we were definitely not even. With practiced movements, I cut and stirred, chopped and added, then stirred some more.

An hour later, the fire was put out and the cauldron was clean. In my pocket rested a vial, filled with a yellow potion. Now, I just had to speak with a house elf.

* * *

Harry filled his plate with bacon, eggs, sausages and beans. The early morning Quidditch practice had left him absolutely famished. He combed a hand through his still moist hair, before pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Thirsty, he finished the glass in one long sip.

"There's something wrong with the juice," he told Ron, who was sitting opposite him, eating with abandon. He made a garbled sound, which vaguely resembled 'what do you mean?'. Half chewed baked beans dribbled down his chin. Harry grimaced, "the juice tastes like bananas," he told his friend. He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to Ron, who simply stared at him; obviously confused. "Wipe your chin," Harry clarified. His friend looked slightly offended, but at least cleaned himself up.

Harry lifted his fork, speared a piece of bacon on it, and brought the bacon to his mouth. He was completely dumbfounded, when the bacon, too, tasted like bananas. "What the fuck?" he mumbled. "Is there anything wrong with your food, mate?"

"No, 's good," Ron replied. "What, somethin' wrong with yours?"

Harry nodded, perplexed, "it tastes like bananas."

Ron frowned, "you think it's poisoned?" He sounded alarmed.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, before – _Snape_. It had to be Snape. _This_was his revenge; making his breakfast taste like bananas? He turned towards the Head table, and smirked at the man. He lifted his eyebrows to communicate that he was not impressed. He was a potions Master, and this was the best he could do?

Snape offered him a nearly imperceptible nod, before taking a slow sip of his tea. Harry returned his attention to his breakfast, determined not to let Snape win, and started shoveling food into his mouth. The texture of bacon with the taste of banana was bit gross. Luckily, it was only for one meal.  
"Enjoying your breakfast, Mister Potter?" Snape asked from behind.

Harry turned a bit in his seat, so that he could see the Professor. "Immensely, Sir," he smiled beatifically. "I happen to be _extremely_fond of bananas."

Snape chuckled. _That sounds ominous_, Harry thought, as a shiver ran down his spine. "Then I suppose you will have an _extremely_ pleasant week."

_Week? _Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

* * *

Two days and six meals later, Harry had reevaluated his opinion of Snape. He was a Potions Master, and Harry _hoped _that this was the best he could do. The man certainly was both creative and merciless when it came to vengeance.

"There is," he told Hermione, after taking a bite of his shepherd's pie, "a special place in hell, reserved for bananas."

Hermione looked confused. "I thought you liked bananas?"

"I did," Harry acknowledged, "before I knew that they were the root of all evil." His bookish friend looked even more confused. Harry silently debated whether to tell her about Snape's prank or not. _Not_, he decided. _Definitely_ _not_. Hermione would demand to know why Snape had implemented the prank, and he was not masochistic enough to tell her that he had pranked Snape. She would ignore the fact that Snape had pranked him _first_ – without a good reason! - in favour of lecturing him about how it was simply not acceptable to prank Professors. He shrugged, "I just don't like bananas anymore," he simply stated. Hermione nodded, her expression betraying that she seriously doubted his sanity. Harry decided that her doubts may have merit, he would at the very least name them proactive. _It is highly likely that I will be driven to insanity by the end of the week. God, I hate bananas!_

Studiously ignoring Snape, whom he knew had his obsidian eyes firmly trained on him, Harry took another bite of his dinner. The taste of banana graced his taste buds.

* * *

Harry stood in front of the stout wooden door, dithering. He checked his watch again, _five minutes now_, he mused. He took a few steps away, then took the same amount of steps back. To knock, or not to knock? Cursing under his breath, he made a decision. He raised his arm and knocked. At the exact same moment, the door swung open. In consequence, Harry lost his balance and tumbled into the room. He landed in an ungraceful heap in the middle of the floor, and felt himself blush. He quickly got to his feet, and cleared his throat.

Snape was smirking at him.

"That, Mister Potter, was a rather impressive entrance," he said. "Were you planning it all," he made a show of pulling up his sleeve and looking at a nonexistent wristwatch, "_seven minutes_you stood outside my door?" Upon Harry's mortified look, he continued: "That, is a constant source of amusement." He gestured towards what appeared to be a mirror; but on closer inspection revealed itself to show a small portion of the corridor outside of Snape's office.

Harry could not resist the temptation: "I really think you are being overly harsh on yourself, Professor," he said. "Truly, your appearance is not _that_comical."

Snape looked as though he tasted something vile – actually, he wore much the same expression Harry had worn during meals the past three days.

"Is there a reason for you visit, Mister Potter?"

"Yes, I -" Snape cut him off.

"Sit," he pointed at a chair opposite his desk, "and be silent."

Harry nodded and obediently went to perch on the chair. It was very uncomfortable, and Harry wondered if that was the main reason Snape had chosen it. _It probably was_, Harry thought. _It would be just like him to do something like that, the great git_. Harry chuckled affectionately. Wait, affectionately? _Affectionately!?_

"Did I not tell you to be silent, Potter?"

"Sorry, Sir."_ Not an affectionate chuckle_, Harry decided, _merely a tolerating one._

Snape cast the papers he had been writing furiously on down with a disgusted huff. "First years' essays," he said by way of explanation. "_Hufflepuffs_," he added. Harry looked as sympathetic as he possibly could, while still trying to convince himself that he had not thought of Severus Snape _affectionately_.

* * *

"What is the purpose of your visit, Potter?" I questioned sharply. "Did you come here merely to look queasy, or did you have something more productive in mind?" Even I recognised that I sounded more snappish than usual. Well, first year Hufflepuffs would have that effect on anyone.

"I," he hesitated, looking like the very epitome of a moron, before continuing, "I wanted to apologise, Sir." That did certainly not sound like the Potter I knew and hated. "I," again, he paused to look like an idiot, "I'm sorry for pranking you." I did not believe that for a second. I kept my expression neutral. "And, eh, I wanted to ask you for the antidote for this potion." He looked very nervous. Almost as though he thought I would not supply him with the antidote. How clever of him.

"Why would I do that?" I asked sweetly.

"Because I helped you when you asked."

"You are forgetting one vital detail. You removed the charm only because I gave you something you desired in return." Now he looked as though a dementor's kiss was imminent. "I am curious, Mister Potter, what would you offer me in return for my assistance?"

"Erhm, eh, I -"

"I thought as much," I said flatly. "Until you are ready to bargain, rather than _ask_; I would be exceedingly grateful if you left my office."

The brat looked desperate. "I have money," he said as if I had not known that already.

"I have money as well, Mister Potter." Though not as much as the brat. "I am not interested in your money." Well, not much anyway. I sighed. "Even if I wanted to help you, Potter, I would not be able to. There is no antidote." Of course there was. "I am sorry," from the look he gave me, I deduced that not even _he_was sufficiently moronic to believe that, "but there is nothing I can do." Again, of course there was.

The brat nodded dejectedly, thanked me for my time, and shuffled out of my office. The boy truly was too naïve.

* * *

Harry had a premonition that he would never, ever like bananas again. He was sitting in the common room with his friends, very glad that he had survived the week. That his sanity was still intact was an added bonus.

"Harrykins," Fred and George approached from the other end of the common room, "how are you this fine evening?"

"Fine," Harry replied, "you?"

"We could tell you," one of them began,

"about how we are feeling," the other continued,

"the entire evening," the first one finished.

"But then, we would never," the other began,

"get around to telling you," the first one continued,

"about the new product we've developed," the finished in stereo.

Harry grinned, _this might be just what I need_.

* * *

**AN:** I have changed my mind, you may not insult my mother. You may leave a review, though. Please leave a review. I love it when you leave reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own anything that I do not own.

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Chapter six – Anatomical Changes

"I need a leave of absence, Headmaster," I said through the floo.

Dumbledore looked surprised. "Another one, Severus?" Another one? _Another _one?

"Yes, Headmaster," I said, sneering, "I _need_ another one. I would be pleased if you would _grant me _my first."

"What could possibly have occurred, that would warrant a leave of absence?" he questioned curiously.

I grimaced, I truly did not wish to tell him of my – _affliction_- until I absolutely had to. "I believe I have unintentionally imbibed a potion, I wish to remain in seclusion until such a time as I have discovered a way to counteract its effects," I stated, quite pleased with my formulation. It was satisfactorily oblique, but conveyed the essential information nonetheless. The old man looked intrigued; I mentally cursed.

"May I inquire as to _why _you wish to 'remain in seclusion'?"

I bit my lip. This was simply too painful to speak of. "Since I had a very comprehensive lesson in humility less than two weeks ago, I thought I'd rather just sit this one out. May I have the leave of absence, Headmaster?"

When the fool just smiled, a feeling of dread settled in my stomach.

* * *

I entered the staff room, taking extra care to keep my scowl firmly fixed in place. If I were lucky, it would disabuse my colleagues of the notion that I would tolerate remarks upon my appearance.

Everyone looked up as I entered. I was slightly taken aback as even Pomona trained her eyes on me, momentarily abandoning her first breakfast. I glared at her, looking as menacing as possible as I tried to scare her into reverting her focus to the food before her. Deciding to act as though everything was completely normal, I took my usual seat at the table.

"Severus," Filius asked in a joyful tone, "you look different, have you done something with your hair?" I clenched my jaw; _done something with my hair, indeed_. The miniature-man was enjoying my disgrace far too much.

"I realise, Filius, that you are not particularity familiar with the female anatomy, but these," I looked pointedly down at my ample bosom, "are not _hair_, but _breasts_."

The small man merely smiled at me. "I hope that you also realise that we will all accept you, regardless of what shape you come in, Severus." He paused before adding: "Or would you prefer to be called something else?" almost as an afterthought.

_This is my own fault, _I thought. _I was a horrible person while still alive, now I've died and gone to hell_.

"I suppose _you_ would be an excellent example of how liberally the faculty of this institution dispense their affection, completely regardless of what shape or – indeed - _size_ you come in."

"Severus!" Pomona admonished, "It is certainly not good form to insult your colleagues!" I desperately wanted to tell her what I considered to be 'good form', but managed to exert enough control over myself to quench the impulse.

"Now, now, Pomona," Filius said merrily, "Charlotte and I are merely engaging in some friendly banter." He looked mischievously at me. "Right, Charlotte?" I knew – from experience, unfortunately – that he would only enjoy himself more if I were offended by his gibes. Instead, I smiled.

"I would much prefer to be called 'Cassandra', as _Charlotte_ sounds too much like _harlot_ to appeal to my tastes," I said sweetly. "Those are, after all, days I would rather forget." A feeling of deep satisfaction settled in my gut, as Pomona sprayed her mouthful of Pumpkin juice all over Filius. It was soon replaced by a feeling of dread, as breakfast time approached. I decided that the best course of action would be to pretend as though everything was fine and freakin' dandy. _Time to face the dratted music_.

* * *

Fred and George stared at Harry, seemingly awed by his amazing courage. Harry shook his head in an attempt to dissuade them from speaking; alas, it was to no avail. "You pranked _Snape_?" they asked in stereo. Their not-quite-innocuous question made Hermione, who had previously been immersed in her mutterings about disrespect and immaturity, look up.

"Harry!" she erupted, obviously appalled. Her outcry easily carried throughout the hall, making every head present turned towards them. He raised his hands in a soothing gesture, which made her look even angrier. "Harry James Potter, do you truly believe that a simple gesture will prevent me from speaking?"

Harry grimaced. "Well, they do say that the last thing to abandon you is hope," he tried.

She snorted exasperatedly. "Harry," she begun before Harry interrupted her.

"For God's sake, Hermione, would you quiet down?" he hissed. Hermione merely looked resolute.

"Professor Snape is a Professor," she stated loudly.

"That, Miss Granger, I believe is a tautology," a cool voice said from behind. "I also believe that we would all be immensely grateful if you would refrain from making your displeasure known quite so vociferously. Some of us would like to enjoy our breakfast _in peace_."

"But, Professor, Harry -"

"That," Snape said icily, "is enough, Miss Granger. Or would you like me to deduct points?"

"But, you -"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," the Potions Master said.

Hermione promptly shut her mouth, looking wounded and irritated at the same time. Her eyes drilled into Harry's, promising that they would have an unpleasant conversation later. Harry sighed exasperatedly; he dearly loved Hermione, but she had a tendency to be very annoying.

Harry turned around and nodded at Snape. "Professor," he said by way of greeting. Snape turned on his heel and walked away without reciprocating the greeting, by which Harry was not awfully surprised. He admired Snape's retreating figure, much as an artist viewing his work. Turning back towards Fred and George, he contemplatively said: "I can't decide which I like best, his butt, or his breasts." He bit his lip. "I must say that the two of you are pure geniuses."

"You," Hermione hissed at him, "are immature and cruel. I can't believe you would embarrass Professor Snape like that!" She then breathed deeply through her nose, before standing up and departing.

"We think you're brilliant, Harry," one of the twins said.

"Though it is slightly disconcerting," the other begun,

"to see the body of a beautiful woman," the first one continued,

"with the head of Severus Snape," the other finished.

* * *

I swept out of the hall, doing my very best to look intimidating while my breasts bounced with every step. For the first time in my life, I was thankful for being appointed a spy by the Headmaster. Spying had taught me to mask my true emotions and display those that were appropriate. Years of practise now allowed me manipulate my facial muscles into a look of anger and irritation, when I would rather just sink through the floor.

This was positively awful.

_At least_, I tried to console myself, _you are not stumbling over your own robes_.

A group of fifth year students snickered as I passed and – horrified – I felt myself blush. Cursing my traitorous blood, I quickened my pace. The brat would pay for this.

* * *

I sat down in my favourite armchair. Growling, I recalled my conversation with the Headmaster. I was now certain that the man took immense pleasure in seeing me embarrassed, a fact I did not find amusing at all. Unfortunately, there was not a lot I could do about it.

I also thought about why I had not simply let the Granger-girl speak. If she had stated the Potter-brat's guilt loudly and clearly in the middle of the great hall, it would have provided an excellent excuse to deduct several hundred points from Gryffindor. Instead, I had told her to be quiet and deducted a measly ten points.

It was, of course, a matter of pride. It would have been exceedingly embarrassing if it were common knowledge that Harry Potter had managed to slip me – me! - a potion. I was a Potions Master, for Merlin's sake. It was not supposed to be possible to adulterate any of my beverages without my knowledge. That the achievement belonged to a _Gryffindor_, only made it more humiliating. No, I did not regret silencing the know-it-all.

Also; points and detentions were all useful instruments when it came to punishing the brats, but 'an eye for an eye' had always appealed to me more.

After casting a glance at the clock, I stood up and walked to my private lab; which lay adjacent to my personal chambers. With a flick of my wand, I extinguished the flames beneath the brass cauldron. I had tested the remnants of my tea, which I took in my quarters every morning before breakfast, and thus knew what sort of potion I had imbibed.

I took the large wooden ladle from the workbench, and scooped a generous amount of the viscous antidote into a cup. After casting a quick cooling charm on the small container, I drank the contents; sighing in relief as I felt my breasts regress and my bottom resume its normal form and texture.

"Valentine's day is just around the corner," I said, then chuckled darkly.

* * *

AN: You are more than welcome to leave a review. Reviews make me exceedingly happy. If you want to make me happy, leave a review.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I think you know the drill by now.

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Chapter seven -Be My Valentine

"Hey, mate!" Harry groaned as Ron prodded him with the tip of his wand. "It's time to get up, or we'll miss breakfast."

"God forbid that Ronald Weasley ever miss _breakfast_," Harry said grumpily. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes. He swung his legs over the bedside and fumbled around for his glasses. Once he found them, he pushed them onto his nose.

His world significantly clearer, he stood up and stretched. He was a bit surprised as he realized that for the first time in a long time, he had slept the whole night through. He smiled as he said to no one in particular: "Perhaps I'll even be able to concentrate in class today."

As he had showered the evening before, he felt no need to do so this morning. After splashing some water in his face, armpits and groin, he toweled himself off and got dressed. After brushing his teeth; he spent a few minutes searching for his hairbrush, before giving up. "It will resurface eventually," he told his friend in a conspiratorial whisper. Deciding to use some reversed psychology on the missing object, he said: "even with your help, my hair remains untidy," addressing the room in general. He scoffed, "I don't even need you, so you needn't bother coming back." Ron merely looked resigned to the fact that he would never understand Harry. "You are much too used to my eccentricities," Harry told him, giving him a paternal pat on the shoulder. He smiled at his best friend, before gathering his schoolbooks and shoving them into his bag. "Let's go," he said, before sweeping out of the room.

They found Hermione sitting in their usual spot at the Gryffindor table. "Good morning," Harry told her, smiling broadly.

"You are in a good mood," Hermione said uncertainly. They had not gone to bed on friendly terms the night before.

"I," Harry declared, "am in a _perfect_mood." It was true, he reflected. He felt positively exuberant. He was happy, well rested, and his body felt strong and healthy. "Perfect," he said once again.

Hermione smiled at him, before her expression darkened considerably. "Professor," she said, directing a stiff nod at a point just above Harry's head.

"Miss Granger," Snape returned her greeting, before turning to Harry. "Your hair looks more unkempt than usual, Potter," he said with a knowing smirk. "Did your hairbrush prove to be _elusive_ this morning?"

Harry's mood plummeted, as he contemplated the sheer amount of horrible things a competent brewer could do with access to one's hair.

* * *

I was by no means a patient man, but I found that; for this; I had patience. I was standing where I had spent most of my adult life – in the shadows. As I waited, I watched disinterestedly as small groups consisting of Slytherin students occasionally passed me, making their way into their common room. No one noticed me, I observed with pride. Not even Draco Malfoy, who always made sure to be aware of his surroundings.

After half an hour, the moment – or, rather; the person - I had been awaiting finally arrived.

"Pansy!" I called softly. Miss Parkinson stopped, looking suspiciously around herself. I stepped out of the shadows, deliberately looking terrified, and shoved the box of Honeyduke's Finest Chocolate at her.

Then I ran.

"Potter!?" I heard her shrieking behind me.

_This_, I thought, _is the reason I love potions_.

* * *

Harry was slowly losing his mind. Paranoia, such as he had never before experienced, was now completely ruining his life. He was too afraid to go anywhere without the company of at least one of his friends, he was afraid to go to sleep at night; lest he wake up as a snail or something equally unpleasant; and he was afraid to eat. The latter, beyond doubt, was the most problematic. He got closer to having a nervous breakdown every meal.

Snape had not retaliated yet. _Yet_, being the keyword.

_Yet _strongly implied that he would.

And Harry had no idea when. And Harry had no idea how.

Hermione looked at him worriedly. They were sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was studying and Harry was desperately wishing that he were calm enough to study. He was contemplating all the possible scenarios Snape may choose to take his revenge.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry answered, his stressed tone belying his statement. Hermione frowned.

"It's just that you've been a little," she hesitated, "_off_lately." She grimaced, before amending: "more off than usual."

Harry breathed deeply. "Have you noticed anything odd about Snape lately?" he asked his friend.

Hermione chuckled dryly. "You mean besides the fact that he has been pranked twice in the last month and has not killed anyone yet?"

_Yet_, Harry thought, _being the bloody keyword_.

* * *

A week later, I was back at the entrance to the Slytherin common room. A rose, its colour a beautiful – if one could ever call such a Gryffindor colour beautiful – red, clutched in my left hand.

As I waited for Miss Parkinson to arrive, I ran a mental inventory of my potions ingredients. Since I had imbibed the last dose of Polyjuice Potion from my personal stock a quarter of an hour earlier, I would have to brew more. The process of brewing the potion was lengthy and I did certainly not look forward to brewing that particular potion, when there were other potions I would rather brew. Still, I did not regret taking the potion, as this would lend credence to my deathblow.

It did not take long before Miss Parkinson ambled around the corner. I stepped out of the shadows, into the flickering torchlight and waited for her to see me.

"Potter," she said, startled and vaguely disgusted, the moment she recognised me. Or rather, recognised Potter.

Seven steps brought me less than a foot away from her. I handed her the rose, gave her a peck on the cheek, blushed, and ran off.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione were entering the great hall when Draco Malfoy approached them.

"I knew," he drawled, "that Gryffindors were delusional, but I had no idea that it was to this extent, Potter." He smirked superciliously. Harry was admittedly confused.

"What do you mean, Malfoy?"

Malfoy regarded him as one would regard dog shit attached to one's shoe. "Merely that I find it exceedingly pathetic that you actually believe that Pansy would leave _me_ for _you_." The blonde boy pulled out his wand and leaned, threateningly, towards Harry. "If you ever kiss my girlfriend again, I will hex your balls off." He then turned around and walked back to the Slytherin table, leaving a stunned Harry in his wake.

The hall was immersed in silence; until Ron, red faced, broke it by yelling: "You kissed Pansy Parkinson?" That was, apparently, everyone's cue to start laughing.

* * *

Harry was in the middle of an especially demanding potions class, when he finally figured out how his missing hairbrush and Malfoy's allegations were connected. He realised, with no small amount of resignation, that he would now be too distracted to finish the potion to Snape's absurdly high expectations. _Demands_, he amended, _since he does not actually expect anything of me_.

Malfoy had been a severe pain in Harry's nether regions the last couple of days, apparently feeling more emasculated than he was willing to admit by his rival's attempts to woo his girlfriend. By now, Harry was rather tired of hearing Malfoy spew shit about how inferior Harry was. He was equally tired of being on the receiving end of stinging hexes and tripping jinxes.

When class was over, Harry motioned for Ron and Hermione to leave without him. "I'll catch up with you in the great hall," he whispered to them. When everyone but Snape and he had vacated the classroom, he approached the Professor's desk.

"Is it an established habit of yours to adopt the appearance of another and kiss your female students, Sir?" The question, admittedly, sounded a bit cheeky, but Harry simply had to know. He was loath to believe something so crappy about Snape – _when did that happen?_- but if he had no compunctions about stealing kisses from unsuspecting minors, it needed to be brought to the Headmaster's attention.

"What!?" the Potions Master erupted. His face, normally carefully composed, was a mix of anger and disgust. "Are you implying that I am some kind of," here he paused, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for an adequate noun, "some kind of _pervert_?" His reaction was enough to erase Harry's worries.

"I am not implying anything, Sir. I merely felt obligated to make the inquiry, as you; looking quite like me; kissed Pansy Parkinson."

Snape managed to calm himself slightly. "I did not _kiss_ her," he said sourly, his arms folded across his chest, "I merely gave her a _peck_. _On the cheek._" He looked at Harry, clearly offended. "I kissed my _mother_with more passion," he defended himself.

By now, Harry felt rather badly about accusing him. He grimaced. "I'm sorry," he told the Professor. "Truce?" he asked, offering his hand.

Snape scoffed, obviously feeling that he was once again in control of the situation. "Absolutely not," he replied.

* * *

_Valentine's day. _

I sneered, I hated this blasted day. Every year it was the same - teenagers looking at each other adoringly, exchanging sweets, and proclaiming their undying love and devotion in the most saccharine way possible. I found it absolutely disgusting.

The post owls swept into the hall, bringing small packages and pink letters in abundance. Every girl in the great hall gazed at them longingly, obviously willing one of them – at least – to surrender its burden to them. I snorted, it was all utterly pathetic.

I scanned the Slytherin table, soon finding Pansy Parkinson. She was sitting, surrounded by a group of sycophantic girls, at the approximate middle of the long table. My lips formed a genuine smile as a brown owl lacking any outstanding features landed in front of her. The red envelope attached to its leg was unmistakeably a howler. _Perhaps this valentine's day will be slightly more bearable than its predecessors_, I thought.

"Pansy!" Potter's annoying voice suddenly rang out in the hall, effectively silencing everyone. Miss Parkinson looked disgusted as well as slightly embarrassed. I swapped focus, looking at the Potter-brat instead. He was staring at Miss Parkinson – uncomprehending, but clearly horrified.

"I've done my best to tell you how I feel," the howler continued. "But every time I see you, I get really nervous and can't speak." Now the brat was looking at me, silently imploring me to bring this to an end. I raised my glass in a salute, before smirking at him. "Therefore, I have decided to say what I want – nay, _have_ – to say in a howler. This way, I can't chicken out." I winced, dictating the letter had truly been awful. _Chicken out_, indeed. "To convince you of my sincerity, I have written a poem." Potter looked torn between staying and fleeing. The Potter – or, rather, the _me_- in the howler cleared his throat. "Roses are red, violets are blue. Pansies can be different colours, they're as versatile as you." Poetry had never been my strong suit, but even I could determine that this was exceptionally bad. "Your first name suits you better than your last, Pansy Parkinson, as you are beautiful and certainly not a horrid disease. I love you, please be my valentine," the letter was concluded.

Laughter broke out in the hall, all but chasing the Potter-brat out.

* * *

AN: I've always hated to write evaluations. Therefore, I am going to ask you to write one. 1. What do you think of this story? 2. That's really the only thing I wanted to know.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Is this truly necessary? **  
**

* * *

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Chapter eight - Welcome to the Jungle

Harry pulled on his dragon hide gloves; not because such extreme measures were strictly necessary, but because it felt cool. He carefully extricated the tin from his pocket and gently removed the lid. He dipped his glove-covered fingers in the cream and scooped up a generous dollop of it. Smiling evilly, he proceeded to smear the cream on Snape's desk. _Snape_, Harry thought,_ is in for a surprise tomorrow_.

After coating the surface of the desk with a thin layer; which Fred and George had told him would suffice; he screwed the lid back on the tin. He slipped the tin back into his pocket, after subjecting it to a quick cleaning charm. He did his gloves the same favour, before pulling them off. After checking to make sure that no cream was attached to his person, he put his invisibility cloak back on.

He retrieved the Marauders' map from one of the front row desks, and tapped it with his wand while softly muttering: "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Harry quickly scanned the parchment, starting with the dungeons and moving upwards. He was pleased to note that Severus Snape was not stalking through the corridors that night. As the route to the tower revealed itself to be empty; Harry did not linger in the potions classroom.

_Tomorrow_, he decided, _will be enjoyable._

* * *

"Potter!" Malfoy spat, as Harry was on his way out of the great hall after breakfast.

"Draco," Harry replied jovially, "it truly is good to see you again. How are you?"

"Do not play games with me, Potter," the blonde boy said, clearly livid.

Harry looked up at the enchanted ceiling of the great hall. "The weather is nice as well," he simply stated, knowing that it would incense Malfoy further.

The Slytherin stopped as soon as the large double doors had swung shut behind them. Harry, intent on seeing just how far he could push before his rival exploded, did not even slow his pace. It took a few seconds, before Malfoy realised that Harry had no intentions of stopping. Swearing and enraged, he jogged until he caught up with the Gryffindor.

"I told you to stay away from my girlfriend, Potter!" he hissed.

"Actually," Harry said factually, "you told me not to kiss her again." _As if I would ever kiss Pansy Parkinson_, he thought. "I wish you a pleasant day," he said sarcastically, before increasing his pace.  
Malfoy, twin spots of red adorning his cheeks, simply glowered after him.

* * *

"The instructions," I said contemptuously, "for this ridiculously uncomplicated potion, which will undoubtedly still be quite challenging for some," I looked meaningfully at Potter, "of you, can be found on page 233." I watched as the students flipped their books open, turning pages until they reached the correct one. I sat down behind my desk and began grading essays, making sure to always keep an eye on the students. Accidents in my class could have disastrous results, and it would simply not be acceptable if such an accident were to occur thanks to my negligence.

Fifteen minutes passed in this manner; the students travelling between the cupboard with ingredients and their desks, taking notes in their notebooks, and chopping ingredients, while I sat at my desk, grading.

Finally, I finished grading the last essay; adding the last insulting remark with a flourish. I put my quill down, and put the stopper in the inkwell. Suddenly, a strange tingle coursed through my body, and my hands; to my horror; turned blue. A quick glance to the side confirmed that my hair, too, was blue. _That_, I thought, _is strongly indicative that my entire body is blue_.

I felt an inexplicable urge to speak, and though I prided myself on my self-control, I simply could not resist the impulse. I opened my mouth, and felt an odd mixture of surprise and mortification, as not human speech - but the wild trumpeting of an elephant - filled the room.

Every single one of the students present stared at me. _The only thing_, I decided, _worse than blushing, is blushing when you are indigo. _The only sound in the room was the bubbling emitted from the cauldrons, as the students, seemingly awestruck, simply gazed at me."Since," Potter said cheekily, "everyone seems reluctant to do so, I'll just take it upon myself to address the elephant in the room," he smirked at me, my blood started boiling. "You look a little blue, professor," he continued, "are you alright?" _Of course I was not 'alright', I was blue for Merlin's sake!_

I clenched my jaw, just managing to push an animalistic growl back. "Quite," I replied tersely, while communicating with my eyes that he would not get away unscathed from this. When the brat gulped, I knew that my message had gotten across. "What are you staring at, you dimwits?" I accosted the class in general. "If you wish to earn a zero on today's work, I suggest that you keep staring at me. Those of you who are slightly more ambitious, might want to return your attention to your potions."

* * *

Snape, literally red in the face, strode into the hall. He walked briskly, clearly irritated, to the staff table and took his usual seat. Harry snickered, this prank was hilarious. Snape looked utterly ridiculous, not to mention the sounds he made!

Harry climbed out of his seat, and proceeded to kneel on the floor. "I," he said to Fred and George, bowing his head deeply, "pledge eternal fealty to you." He looked up and grinned. "The two of you are my heroes!" The twins looked a bit uneasy, much like Harry had looked when Snape had given him that _look_ in potions. They were, Harry decided, most likely worried that they would get blamed for Snape's condition. Harry rose and retook his seat at the table. _The twins truly are brilliant_, he thought. They had supplied him with the cream, when Harry had asked them if they had any products that were applied externally.

"Potter," a familiar and thoroughly unwelcome voice said from behind. Harry turned around and faced Malfoy.

"Draco," he nodded neutrally at the Slytherin. "Did you saunter over here merely to spoil my appetite, or do you actually want something?"

The pale cheeks, for the second time that day, suffused with red. "We did not finish our conversation this morning, Potter," he said with an air of superiority.

"Indeed?" Harry lifted his eyebrows, this was actually news to him.

"Indeed," the blonde boy replied. "I want to make it _very_ clear to you that you are to stay away from Pansy," he said in a menacing voice. "Otherwise you will regret it," he finished with narrowed eyes.  
"Right," Harry said, nodding understandingly, "stay away from pretty Pansy's panties, or I'll regret it." Malfoy's expression changed from menacing to murderous. "What," Harry asked innocently, "are you not fond of alliterations?"

"You," Malfoy began, but was promptly interrupted by the loud and shrill shrieking of monkeys. _Thank you, Severus Snape_, Harry thought, as Malfoy turned and stalked off. Harry was not certain that the Potions Master was equally appreciative of his condition.

* * *

I was at the very end of my proverbial rope.

During the last two days, I had gone through all the colours in the visible spectra and spontaneously erupted in animalistic noises. Every free hour at my disposal, had been spent searching – fruitlessly – for a cure. The main problem was that I had absolutely no idea what caused these symptoms – a potion, a charm, or something else entirely. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply through my nose, and gritted my teeth. I knew what I had to do, and was quite the opposite of happy about it. Gathering the broken remains of my dignity, I stood up and pushed my chair in with my – _neon pink_– hands.

I made my way through the great hall, and halted at the Gryffindor table. "Potter," I said, trying not to sound overtly desperate, "kindly accompany me to my office." The brat nodded, put his cutlery down, and stood up. Together, we left the hall.

Once in my office, I sat down behind my desk. "When," I asked Potter, "will this wear off?" I lifted my hands; now an interesting green colour. The brat actually smirked. Damn him.

"I can only give you a vague estimation, since the time it takes for the symptoms to disappear increases exponentially every time you are exposed. I truly can't fathom why you keep dosing yourself with it, Sir."

_Increases exponentially__? Dosing myself?Dosing __**myself**__?_

"_Expound_, Potter," I urged him in a dangerous voice. Now, he looked suitably worried.

"Your desk, in the potions classroom, contaminates you every time you touch it." _Merlin, I have touched the blasted desk a hundred times in the last two days, I could be stuck like this for a year!_He must have interpreted my horrified expression correctly, because he hurriedly added: "But only up to sixteen hours!" Up until that moment I had never truly experienced relief. He then smiled nervously at me. "A Scourgify will take care of the problem." I growled, I had sacrificed two night's worth of sleep in favour of doing research, when the solution was so simple. He giggled, also nervously. "Since I told you how to get rid of it, you won't retaliate, will you?"

I smiled coldly at him, the ominous properties of the expression accentuated by my yellow complexion. "Welcome to the jungle, Mister Potter," I said.

* * *

AN: I hope you liked the chapter. I won't beg you for reviews, as you really should know how to take initiative.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: As J.K. Rowling would probably be embarrassed if people thought this plot belonged to her, I'll do her the favour of declaring that only the characters and settings belong to her. The rest is mine.

* * *

Chapter nine – House-elves, Bastards and Broken Things

I walked trough the aisle, caressing the spines of the books as I passed. The charms section in the school library was rather extensive. This was, of course, both a blessing and a curse; there was a vast collection of books, which greatly increased the chances of finding what you were looking for, but on the other hand you had to search for quite a while to actually find it.

"'Beginner's Charms'," I muttered, reading the title of a thick, red volume. "Definitely not." I walked a few more feet, before reading another title. "'How to Charm People'." I snorted. "Everyone is a sodding comedian, are they not?" I sighed heavily, before separating the book from its companions. I took it to a small table, and started flipping through it. After a little while, I heaved yet another sigh, then went and put it back on the shelf.

Another title soon caught my eye. "'The Charming Prankster'," I read aloud. Grateful that I was alone in the library – being caught reading such literature would effectively ruin my reputation – I took it with me to the same small table. After scanning the table of contents, I flipped to page one hundred and twenty-eight. Suddenly, a smile curved my lips. "This," I mused, "might actually teach the arrogant brat some manners." I summoned some parchment – honestly, if Pince was dimwitted enough to leave it out, she deserved to lose it – and a quill. Soon, I had copied down the necessary information. "This will do very nicely," I said to myself.

* * *

Harry lowered his posterior onto the wooden bench at the Gryffindor table. He poured himself a cup of tea, added some milk and sugar to the steaming beverage, and took a small sip of it. Covering his mouth with his left hand, he yawned while putting the cup back on the table with his right hand. Were he not so tired, he would have worried about Snape's undoubtedly impending vengeance. As it was, his head felt – he ransacked his brain for an adequate adjective – _cottony_.

"Potter," a cool voice did-not-quite-greet-him. _Please go away_, Harry thought, before turning towards Malfoy.

"Draco!" he exclaimed, forcing his face into a joyous expression, as he knew that that would annoy the Slytherin more than open hostility. "You have visited the Gryffindor table so many times in the last two weeks, that you are now considered an honorary Gryffindor!" Harry gushed. "Why don't you have a seat?"

"Do you seriously think that I would ever want to be a part of your house, Potter?" Malfoy questioned haughtily. Just as Harry was about to reply, an odd tingle went though his body. He stiffened, wondering if the tingle indicated that Snape was presently implementing his revenge. As Malfoy did not react to Harry's appearance, and Harry felt normal, he shrugged it off.

He opened his mouth just as a second tingle went through his body. Without his say-so, his head inclined in a respectful bow, which was frankly impossible to break. "Of course not, Master Malfoy Sir!" he exclaimed, his voice rather shrill.

"What did you call me?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

"Master Malfoy Sir, Master Malfoy Sir!" Harry replied, then gasped. _Snape is turning me into a bloody house-elf_, he thought, horrified. When his school robes were replaced by a pillowcase with holes for his arms and legs, it became too much for Harry. Hunted by laughter, he ran from the hall.

* * *

Harry tried desperately to transfigure the pillowcase back into his usual attire. After the fifteenth failure, he decided that the entire project was a waste of time, and instead focused on turning the pillowcase into anything that was not a pillowcase.

"Fuck!" he swore. Transfiguration had never been his strong suit, but this should really be within his capabilities. "Snape must have done something to assure that I would not be able to transfigure it back," he murmured. He was sitting on the astronomy tower, where he – in his panic – had run. He now realised that that had been a mistake. "I should have gone to Gryffindor tower," he lamented, pulling at his hair. "At least I would have a change of clothes there." He decided that he would wait until classes started, then sneak over to the Gryffindor tower and change clothes. Then he would hide out until he could speak normally again. _At least I'm the only one here_, he thought.

"Come on, Daph," someone said. _Okay_, Harry thought with a wince, _maybe not the only one here_. "We still have twenty minutes until classes start."

"Honestly, Blaise, is sex the only thing you ever think about?" a feminine voice responded.

"Of course not, Daph," the first voice answered, sounding rather offended, "sometimes I think of Quidditch." The boy, who had to be Blaise Zabini, laughed smugly. "Ow!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"Stop being an arse, Blaise," Daphne said, "or I'll smack you again."

The unmistakeable sounds of sloppy kisses occurred, and Harry released a breath he had only been half aware of holding. _Maybe they'll just kiss for a while before leaving_, Harry thought, _maybe they won't even see me here. _When the wet, slurping noises – _honestly, are they trying to eat each other?_ - stopped, Harry crossed his fingers; praying to an unknown deity that the couple would leave by the same route they had arrived. _Why_, Harry wondered as the Slytherins rounded the corner, _is this happening to __**me**__?_

"Well, well, if it isn't Potty the house-elf," Zabini said mockingly. Harry scowled, though he doubted the Slytherin noticed, since his head was bowed. "Shouldn't you be in the kitchen, Potty?"

"No, Master Zabini Sir. I should be in class, Master Zabini Sir." _What kind of charm is this? I feel an irresistible compulsion to answer, and I can't do it any way but extremely politely. I __**have**__ to act like a house-elf__. Fuck!_

Zabini chuckled. "But, Potty," he said, "house-elves aren't allowed to go to school like _normal_ people," he made a gesture to include Daphne and himself in that category, "house-elves are _inferior_creatures and their only purpose is to do chores."

"Of course, Master Zabini Sir," Harry said. Blaise chuckled again.

"You are such a freak, Potter," he said, before spitting on Harry and strolling away, a snickering Daphne clinging to his right arm.

"Freak," Harry whispered, as he wiped the saliva away from his forehead. The spit clung to his fringe, making the strands of hair clump together. "Why did he have to say _freak_?"

* * *

Harry was lying in his bed. The curtains were closed, and he was completely hidden beneath his comforter. When Ron and Hermione had come looking for him during lunch, Hermione had termed it: "wallowing in self-pity". Harry disagreed, he was simply feeling averse to company. Suddenly, an odd tingle went through his body. _That_, he thought, _is the charm wearing off_. The self-pity – _fine, so maybe it was self-pity!_ - dissipated, and anger took its place. _That arsehole!_

* * *

I was sitting in my office, grading – I mentally shuddered – essays, when my door was suddenly flung open. The sheer audacity and blatant show of disrespect almost made me gasp.

_The one and only Harry Potter, who else would it be?_ I thought contemptuously. _So much for teaching the brat some manners_. "Mister Potter," I said coldly, "is there anything I can assist you with? Merlin knows we cannot deny the precious _boy-who-lived_anything he may want." The little idiot had absented himself from every class today. His father had been just the same; eager to humiliate others, but simply unable to face humiliation himself. I was, to say the least, rather annoyed with the boy.

"You utter bastard, Snape!" said boy erupted. I sneered, the brat ran a hand through his disheveled hair; seemingly in an attempt to regain his composure.

"I can assure you, Potter, that my parents were married at the time of my birth."

"Go fuck yourself!" he yelled. How _crude_. Well, it seemed his attempt at regaining his composure had failed. "I fucking hate you!" Miserably.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," I calmly stated. "For showing an appalling lack of respect, as well as using such _disagreeable_ invectives." Upon hearing this, the brat – through tremendous effort, no doubt – calmed slightly. As his rage diminished, my chances of deducting large quantities of points became correspondingly smaller. "Pity." I looked at him mockingly. "Here I was hoping to ensure that Slytherin would win the House Cup." Panting, he was glowering at me. His cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly parted. I sneered at him, the brat truly was infernally annoying. "To what do I owe this," I paused, reinforcing my sneer, "_pleasure_? I will not," I added without giving him time to reply, "ask 'to _whom_do I owe this pleasure', as it is quite obviously Satan."

"You," the brat raised a finger to point accusingly at me, "turned me into a bloody house-elf."

"Having a bit of an identity crisis, Potter?" I asked him casually, carefully studying my nails. _I really do have to cut those_, I thought. "I did not turn you into a house-elf, though that would undoubtedly have amused me immensely, I merely ensured that you would show everyone proper respect." I could almost feel my eyes twinkle with mockery, as they bored into his. "A wise man once told me that we all need a lesson in humility once in a while," I said sardonically.

"Lesson in humility, my ass!" the brat exploded. Figuratively speaking, alas. "Lesson in _humiliation_ is more like it!" The brat did have a point. He snarled at me in a very uncivilised manner. "If I want to feel inferior and powerless," he bit out, "I'll just go home." _Home? _What could the boy possibly mean? He narrowed his eyes at me, growled, and stormed out of my office. The 'mirror' next to the door fell and shattered against the stone floor, as he slammed the door shut behind him. I was too stunned to be appropriately annoyed.

_Home? _What could the boy possibly mean?

* * *

AN: It seems I've developed quite a talent for coming up with unoriginal and not-quite-amusing titles for my chapters. "House-elves, Bastards and Broken Things" is only slightly worse than chapter four's unforgettable "The Empire Strikes Backwards". Can anyone guess where I got inspiration for the titles?


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I'm too lazy to write one.

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Chapter ten – Prompting Suspicions

Two days had passed since Potter had stormed into my office, demanding that I pleasure myself. During those two days the brat had refused to so much as look at me. I had even tried insulting his father, since he was wont to lose his temper when I did so, but not even that had made him acknowledge my presence with more than a quiet: "Yes, Sir." His unusual behaviour brought me to the conclusion that my last prank had affected him more than any of the previous pranks I had subjected him to. That, naturally, led to the question _why_. Why had he found this worse than being humiliated in Witch Weekly? Why had he found this worse than only tasting bananas for an entire week? Why had he found this worse than a love declaration to Pansy Parkinson?  
_  
'If I want to feel inferior and powerless, I'll just go home!'_

It appeared that his parting words had set up permanent residence in my mind. Why would the brat connect the two negative emotions with his home? "I'll have to ask Minerva what she knows of the boy's home life," I murmured. _Not because I'm worried, of course not because I'm worried. I'm not worried. Simply curious. Yes, curious_.

I opened the door to the staffroom and went in. I took a seat at the table and provided myself with a cup of tea. I leant back and crossed my legs; resting my right ankle on the nether part of my left thigh. After taking a small sip of my tea, I considered my colleagues. I looked at Filius, let my gaze wander to Rolanda, carefully skipped Pomona – really, I was rather hungry and did not fancy losing my appetite before breakfast – and ended my survey with Minerva.

"What do you know of the Potter-brat's home life, Minerva?" I asked her, carefully keeping the not-worry out of my voice. "I believe his relatives are doing him – and, above all, _me_– a disservice by spoiling him so much." There, no one could ever accuse me of worrying over the boy.

Minerva looked at me disapprovingly; of course, the delusional feline could not possibly perceive her precious Gryffindors as less than perfect. "Harry is not spoiled at all, Severus. I can assure you that his _relatives_," she all but spat out the word, "are the worst sort of people." _And here I was, thinking that __**Voldemort**__ was the 'worst sort of people'._ _How foolish of me_. "I told the Headmaster as much the night he left the boy there."

I took another sip of my tea, which was rapidly cooling. I had hoped that asking Minerva would dispel my worr – _curiosity_. Unfortunately, it had had quite the opposite effect. _This, _I decided,_shall have to be investigated more thoroughly._

* * *

Harry was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, trying his best to ignore Seamus and Dean; who still thought it was hilarious to call Harry 'Master Potter Sir' and ask him to polish their shoes. Hermione was sitting next to him, reading a thick, rather dusty tome about history. Ron was engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess, his brow furrowed in concentration as he contemplated his next move. Harry was staring into the fire, thinking.

The rational part of Harry knew that he really had no good reason to be so angry with Snape. It knew that the house-elf prank had been no worse than any of the pranks Harry had played on Snape. It also knew that Snape hadn't known about Harry's inferiority complex. Unfortunately, the rational part of Harry was rather small.

He snorted. "I'm a teenager, I don't have to be rational," he told Hermione, who didn't even look up from her book.

Beside him, Ron let out a whoop of joy. Apparently, he had triumphed yet again.

* * *

I stalked through the corridors, sneering at the portraits I passed. I absolutely loathed the gossiping fools; who were not only annoying, but also reported anything and everything to the Headmaster. Sometimes, one would like a modicum of privacy. I increased my pace, and soon found myself at the open doors to the infirmary. A first year Hufflepuff was asleep in one of the beds. His wrist was bandaged, but he otherwise looked fine. I scowled at him.

"Poppy," I called. The door to her office opened, emitting the mediwitch.

"Severus," she said curtly, "are you injured?" To tell the truth, Poppy Pomfrey had never been fond of my charming personality.

"I need to view Harry Potter's medical records," I told her in an equally curt tone. She managed to look both surprised and irritated, which both surprised and irritated me. She assumed her usual stance – her hands on her hips, her chin defiantly raised – which indicated that she was prepared for battle. I sneered at her; showing that I too was prepared.

"That will be impossible, Severus," she stated. Unwrapping a lollipop without swearing was impossible, this should be mere child's play in comparison. "Even if I wanted to show you, I am bound by law not to," she smiled triumphantly at me. How I yearned to wipe that expression off her face. "There is such a thing as _patient confidentiality_, Severus." The woman actually believed I had not known that before asking? Determined to look at the sodding records, I decided to use some Slytherin cunning.

"If you do not let me look at the files, I will tell everyone," I curved my lips in a cruel smile, then lowered my voice to a whisper, "_your secret_." She immediately blanched, her eyes widening.

"How did you know?" she breathed.

I sneered at her. "A little bird whispered in my ear," I told her sardonically. She turned her head in all directions, obviously making sure that no one was watching. Her eyes lingered on the Hufflepuff boy, and she let out a relieved sigh when she saw that he was still sleeping deeply. She strode over to her office door, turned around, and beckoned me to her. Safely ensconced in her office, she opened the filing cabinet with a whispered password and a tap of her wand. After extricating Potter's file, she slammed it down on her desk, gave me a menacing look, and left. I was frankly alarmed, when I realised that her secret must be incriminating indeed to make her abandon her professionalism. After spending an appropriate amount of time frowning and contemplating the implications of a corrupt mediwitch, I decided that I truly was not that interested, and began perusing the Potter-brat's medical record instead.

Half an hour later, I left Poppy's office. Absentmindedly rubbing my chin, I made my way down to the dungeons. The only thing truly alarming – besides the sheer amount of injuries the accident prone idiot had managed to obtain during his years at Hogwarts – was a severe case of malnutrition. Somehow, I doubted that the boy was merely picky.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off. After subjecting his hair to a quick drying charm, he wrapped the towel around his waist and brushed his teeth. He then put on his pajamas and exited the bathroom.

When he lay in his bed, the thick curtains effectively obscuring him from view, he relaxed and allowed his mind to wander.

People were finally beginning to leave him alone again. Even Dean and Seamus had, after Ron had snapped and told them off, stopped taunting him. Only the Slytherins were still laughing at him, and he was so accustomed to that that it didn't bother him very much.

His thoughts soon turned to Snape. He had been avoiding the man as much as he possibly could during the past five days. To be honest, he wasn't even angry with the man anymore. There was a faint sensation of betrayal, but he recognised that it wasn't really justified. No, the real reason that he was avoiding the Potions Master was that he was ashamed. _I stormed into the man's office, throwing a tantrum like a three year old. I never thought it would be possible to make the man respect me any less, but I might just have succeeded_. Now, not even his Gryffindor courage could make him face the Professor. He sighed and closed his eyes, pulled the comforter up to his chin, and decided to think of Quidditch instead.

* * *

The absurdly obese boy, truly more reminiscent of a whale than a human being, looked at me with fearful eyes. I sneered at him, and he cowered. _For Merlin's sake, the boy is more afraid than a Hufflepuff first year_, I thought. I could not decide whether my dominating emotion was disgust or satisfaction. "Are you Dudley Dursley?" I asked, my voice as cool as ice. I reciprocated his nod with a nod of my own, though mine was decidedly less hesitant. "Tell me about your cousin," I demanded. His eyes immediately widened, becoming so large it was almost comical. His meaty hands disappeared behind his large bulk, I could only presume that he used them to cover his considerable posterior. I narrowed my eyes, and studied him more carefully. Minerva had never mentioned that the boy was mentally challenged. Suddenly, I felt a bit guilty about terrifying him. "Would you like an ice cream?" I tried. I truly had no experience with retarded people. My polite and careful inquiry only served to frighten the boy further. I had a premonition that it was going to be a very tiring conversation.

After leading him over to a bench, a guiding hand on his shoulder, I sat down and motioned – exaggeratedly – for him to do the same. The boy remained standing, just staring at me. I frowned; if he was this simple, why had his parents let him out by himself? "Sit," I slowly said, repeating the ridiculous gesture. Finally, the boy seemed to gain understanding of the situation. He turned around, still covering his bottom with his hands, and sat down. I moved a bit to allow him more – he truly did need it – space. I scratched my head and contemplated the boy. "Could you tell me about your cousin?" I enunciated carefully, initiating eye contact in the beginning of the sentence and retaining it throughout.

The boy looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want me to tell you about that freak?" he asked. I was surprised, both by his remarkably forthright and clear question, and by his name for Potter. _Freak?_

"Do you not like your cousin?"

"Nobody likes that worthless freak," he answered. His blue eyes glittered with malice. _Perhaps the boy is not retarded, after all,_ I thought. _His mannerisms are actually more reminiscent of Crabbe or Goyle_. I could not condone legilimency on a mentally challenged person, but since the boy merely seemed to be an exceptionally stupid and mean person, I had absolutely no compunctions about using the art against him. After making sure that we did not have an audience, I looked deeply into his eyes, raised my wand, and whispered: "Legilimens."

* * *

Harry was just about to leave the dinner table, when a lone owl swooped into the hall and landed in front of him. He frowned at it; owls usually only delivered mail during breakfast. It blinked at him, cocked its head, and extended its leg. A white envelope, with the Hogwarts seal, was attached to it. Harry gently removed it, and the owl immediately took off.

"Who is it from, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged and waved the envelope in front of her to show her that it did not say. He then ripped it open, and extricated the single piece of parchment; folded once; it contained. He quickly unfolded and read it.

_Harry,_

_It appears we have some rather important business to discuss, please meet Professor Snape and myself in my office as soon as this missive reaches you. The password is 'Lemon Tarts'._

_Albus Dumbledore._

An uncomfortable feeling settled in Harry's gut. _What if Snape has told Dumbledore that I've pranked him and that I told him to go fuck himself? Can you get expelled for that? What if they've decided to expel me?_ "Harry, who was it from?" Hermione interrupted his thoughts. Harry did not reply, but simply handed her the letter. Hermione read it, frowning, before looking at him. "You had better go," she told him. Harry nodded dumbly, before walking away. _Please don't let them expel me, _he pleaded, directing his thought at the enchanted ceiling.

"Lemon tart," Harry said when he reached the stone Gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. It immediately leapt aside, and Harry passed. He stepped onto the revolving staircase, which brought him to the door to Dumbledore's study. He raised his arm and knocked, his heart racing and his palms sweaty. _What if they truly do expel me? _

"Enter!" the Headmaster's voice called, and Harry obeyed.

The Headmaster's office was pleasantly warm. Fawkes was sitting on his perch, trilling softly. The soothing sound erased some of Harry's nervousness. Unfortunately, the majority of it remained. "Harry!" Dumbledore greeted him warmly. _Surely he wouldn't be so happy if he were about to expel me? _Harry thought hopefully. He returned the greeting with a hesitant nod and a small wave of his sweaty hand, extremely grateful that Snape was sitting with his back against him; rendering the man incapable of seeing Harry's pathetic attempt at reciprocating the greeting. "Don't just stand there, my boy! Come in, have a seat!" the old man said cheerfully, his blue eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. Harry made his way across the room, sitting down in one of the armchairs in front of the Headmaster's desk. He was very aware that the Potions Master was occupying the chair next to his, but Harry's throat went dry at the mere thought of addressing the man. Instead he contented himself with throwing inconspicuous glances at him – which Snape probably noticed anyway, since very few things escaped his notice. _He's probably still mad at me_, he thought. "Lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered from behind his desk.

"No, thank you," Harry politely declined.

"Ah," Dumbledore said mournfully, "sadly, lemon drops are severely underrated. Not many people appreciate them as much as they deserve. Are you certain you do not want one?"

Harry blinked and cleared his throat, he truly did not want a lemon drop. "Perhaps I'll take one, Headmaster," he said haltingly.

"Ah!" the old man exclaimed, clearly delighted. "I knew I'd manage to convert you eventually," he said with a wink. He took the small bowl and leant forwards, half rising from his seat and dipping his beard in his teacup, and extended the bowl to Harry. Harry forced a smile to his lips, still a bit apprehensive and uncomfortable in Snape's presence, and took one of the sweets. He put it in his mouth, suppressing a grimace at the sour flavour. "I daresay it won't take long before your love of lemon drops surpasses mine."

"Headmaster," Snape said coolly, "I do not believe we are here to discuss those infernal sweets, but Mister Potter's living situation." Harry froze. _Living situation? _Were they going to remove him from the tower? Were they really going to expel him!?

"Yes, of course," the Headmaster said, the twinkle gone from his eyes. "Professor Snape has presented some rather worrying facts to me, and we have decided that your current living situation is untenable." _Untenable? How?_ Harry wondered. _I get along well enough with the other boys_.

"Are," Harry paused and cleared his throat, "are you going to move me from the tower?" _Please say no, please say no_.

Snape gave an incredulous snort, while Dumbledore raised his silver eyebrows in surprise. "Of course not." He smiled curiously at Harry. "I was referring to your life with your relatives." Harry froze again. Was the old man really serious? He wouldn't have to live with the Dursleys anymore?

"I won't have to go back there?" Harry asked, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

"No, my boy, you won't have to go back," the Headmaster said, the twinkle returning to his eyes. "Why, Professor Snape was quite adamant that you not be sent back there," he said mischievously, "he even went as far as to threaten to resign if I did not heed his wishes." It took a few seconds before Harry fully comprehended what the Headmaster had just said. When he finally did, he turned; flabbergasted; to the Potions Master, who looked murderous.

"You did?" Harry asked, a little incredulous.

The man's expression softened slightly. Raising his chin defensively, he sniffed. "I did. Though I can assure you that it was decidedly less melodramatic than the Headmaster makes it sound." Harry felt gratitude swell within him. Snape had actually taken an interest in his home life, had actually been prepared to make sacrifices for Harry's well being.

"Thank you," he whispered. Snape looked at him with an unreadable emotion in his eyes, then nodded stiffly. A though suddenly struck Harry. "Where will I live?" he asked Dumbledore.

"I'm sure that your Godfather would have absolutely nothing against taking you in," the old man responded. Harry's eyes widened in delighted surprise. _I'll get to live with Sirius? _A grin split his face and he felt well and truly happy._ I'll get to live with Sirius_.

* * *

The boy and I left the Headmaster's office together. We rode down the revolving staircase in strained silence. Once we reached the bottom of it, the brat stopped.

"Sir?" he asked, his voice slightly uncertain. I stopped as well, turning towards him and raising an eyebrow; a silent prompt for him to ask his question. He took a few seconds to gather his courage – _am I truly this intimidating?_ - but eventually managed to speak up. "How did you," he fell silent, letting the rest of the question hang in the air. We both knew what he was asking about, and it felt strange; this mutual understanding. Not bad, just _strange_.

"Your rather strong reaction to my," I cleared my throat, "latest prank, was a bit alarming," I said awkwardly. "But first and foremost, it was what you said. 'If I want to feel inferior and powerless, I'll just go home'." The boy nodded.

"Thank you," he said.

"You already did thank me," I told him.

"Yes," he said simply. "But I wanted to do it again." _Ridiculous Gryffindor_, I thought, but it held no real malice. "And," he paused momentarily, "I also want to apologise." I was understandably surprised. _The Potter-brat apologising to me?_"For storming into your office. And saying those things."

"You have me a bit worried," I said drily, "as a _Potter_ apologising to _me_is surely tantamount to the first signs of the Apocalypse." The boy smiled wryly at me. "I do, however, accept your apology." Then I turned and strode away, wondering if, and how, our relationship would change.

* * *

I was sitting at my desk, doing some paperwork. I always made sure to have everything in order, before I went to Spinner's End for the summer.

After the meeting in Dumbledore's office, time had seemingly flown by. After the incident with tap dancing had been retaliated by the strange attractiveness to rats, the boy and I had decided to call a truce for the end of year exams. I caught myself smiling upon thinking of the boy – we had developed a tentative... _something_over the last months – and quickly exchanged the expression with a scowl. Harry Potter was and would always be an insufferable brat, and I held absolutely no affection for him. At all.

Someone knocked on my office door, and I irritatedly told the knocker to enter. _Speaking of the Devil_, I thought, when the brat himself stepped in. "Potter," I greeted him, feigning disinterest.

"Sir," he hesitated for a moment, looking rather embarrassed. "Ehrm, would you, maybe, like to come visit?" He bit his lip. "On my birthday?" He looked up and met my eyes, then quickly shifted his gaze to the floor. _He actually wants me to be there for his birthday?_ I quickly hid my pleasure and delighted surprise behind a neutral expression.  
_  
I would very much like to come_, I thought. "I suppose I might survive such an ordeal," I said. The brat's smile almost seemed to light up the room. I had to fight valiantly to suppress my own.

* * *

AN: This is the last chapter before the epilogue.


	11. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Still lazy.

* * *

Epic-logue (get it? get it?)

I picked up the box and stepped over to the hearth. "Number twelve Grimmauld Place," I said, throwing a fistful of floo powder into the fireplace. I stepped into the flames – now green – and stepped out in the Order's headquarters a moment later. I irritatedly cast a cleaning charm – _someone ought to clean the sodding fireplace_– on myself.

"Severus!" Potter shouted. "You came!" Of course I did.

"Grudgingly," I said, though it was obvious that not even the brat was fooled. I scowled at him, and attempted to distract him by shoving the box at him. Naturally, it worked. The teenage mind was, after all, a fickle thing.

He hurriedly removed the lid. "Cake!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with childish delight. He ran to the kitchen, I followed in a slightly more dignified pace. The cake was resting on a large platter on the table when I entered the room. As I watched, Potter set the table with two plates and two teaspoons.

"Where is the mutt?" I asked him.

"Oh, you mean Sirius?" he asked, though he knew very well that I was, indeed, referring to him. "He's not here." I looked at me and winked. "I told him you were coming." Good. I had not been looking forward to seeing Black again, now it seemed I would not have to. Potter took a seat, and motioned for me to do the same. He cut two large slices of the cake, serving one to me and one to himself. He smiled at me, before taking a bite of the cake. Immediately, his face twisted in a disgusted grimace. I smirked. "You do know that I hate banana, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered simply, taking a bite of the cake myself.

The boy laughed lightly, before taking another bite. "God, this tastes like crap!" he exclaimed. I quickly hid my smile by taking another bite of the cake.

"So," he said, "did you get me a present?"

"Present?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"You promised to get me a present," he stated.

"I got you a cake," I said, shrugging.

The boy nodded gravely, then raised an eyebrow; clearly seeing through my bluff. I snorted, before extricating a box from my pocket and enlarging it.

"Happy birthday, Harry," I said, handing him the present.

* * *

The End. Frickin' finally.

* * *

AN: This was the last chapter. Since I am lazy, I thought it was best to make a shorter story - rather than abandon it halfway through. I hope this story has provided you with at least a modicum of amusement. What did you think of the end? Reviews are greatly appreciated and rewarded with invisible, utterly useless, potatoes that do not truly exist.


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